


The Trouble With Families

by fringeperson



Category: Neko no Ongaeshi | The Cat Returns
Genre: Don't copy to another site, F/M, Family, Human Baron, I had no idea what I was doing when I wrote this and I know better now, Old Fic, also I've never had a cat so I probably got everything cat-related horribly wrong, but I'm not going to deny its existance just because it's old and bad, cat Haru, unexplained magic bullshittery, unhealthy family relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 13,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27448426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fringeperson/pseuds/fringeperson
Summary: The trouble with families is that they love you. Humbert von Gikkingken is human, and loaded with care.~Originally posted in '08
Relationships: Baron Humbert von Gikkingen & Louise, Baron Humbert von Gikkingen/Yoshioka Haru
Kudos: 5





	1. Humbert von Gikkingen

**Author's Note:**

> I warn you again, this is Very Old Writing - and I haven't changed anything except a couple of typos.

The crash reached his ears with, admittedly, little clarity, but a lot of volume. The sound of the lid falling off a bin does not have to be clear in order to be recognised.

Humbert von Gikkingken left his electric mixer – he'd been making scones – to see what had disturbed the tranquillity of his yard. Flicking on the porch light, the tin bin was illuminated, on its side, garbage falling out, and a pathetic little mewling noise coming from nearby.

Humbert sighed. This was just what he didn't need. His mother was coming to visit, and she would give him an earful if she saw this. The man unhooked his gardening gloves and, still wearing his apron, started to tidy up the junk.

A distressed mew sounded as he righted the bin. Surprised – he hadn't realised the source of the sound was actually _in_ his bin – he peered in and carefully withdrew a small brown kitten – and it was brown, completely, from ears to tail. The only hint of any other colour was a little bit of white on it's nose, and some green stuff that was sticking to it's side. Humbert recognised the pickle relish that he had thrown out. He didn't like the stuff, but his great uncle always gave it to him for Easter. Why, he had no idea.

The man sighed again, and put the mess-covered feline down, dumping the junk back in the bin, where it belonged.

"Well, you're something else for mother to criticise me about," he told the kitten, picking it up again and carrying it into his house.

Humbert von Gikkingken was twenty-one. He'd only just left his mother's house two years ago, and was still more than just a little in awe of the woman. Woman? No, _matriarch_. She _ruled_ the family, and ruled it with an iron … everything. Andrea von Gikkingken cooked, cleaned and gardened like no one else. Every woman and their daughters who had lived in their street had gone to Andrea for lessons in cooking and housekeeping. Andrea von Gikkingken even made money from her embroidery – and then made more money in investments!

He was the better for it of course; living with his mother was an education, so was working on the antique car in the garage with his father. The man was a mechanical whiz, but that was where the old man's skills had come to an abrupt halt. The only real trouble was that Humbert, having to face his mother's monthly visit, always felt like he had to be perfect, and wore himself out trying to meet the standards Andrea held for her own household. It never occurred to him that she might not notice the minuscule bit of dust on the top of the kitchen cupboard – because she would.

Humbert left thoughts of his mother to consider the kitten in his arms. It was a she, and she was as much of a mess in his arms as she had been in the bin. He headed for the bathroom. Humbert knew that cats did not generally like water, and licked themselves clean, but he also knew that water, and soap, would be required to clean up this little one.

"Baron!" the call came from his front door. There was only one person who called him Baron. Dropping the kitten in the empty tub, he ran for the door.

"Louise, w-what are you doing here?" he stammered, wishing he didn't look like someone who had left his cooking to clean up a spilled garbage bin.

The first time she'd called him Baron, he'd asked why.

"Simple," she'd answered. "Marry money, live comfortably, become a Baron, less trouble than a Lord or Duke or Prince. It _suits_ you, don't ask why."

There wasn't anything he could say to that, so he'd said nothing.

"What do you mean 'what am I doing here?' You twit," she said, walking past him into his house. "I came to vacuum before your mother gets here, and then I'll dust, and disappear. You have scones to make," Louise added, examining his apron. "And then you need to have a shower. Come on, let me help, that's what friends are for."


	2. Louise

Humbert shut the door behind Louise and, being reminded of his cooking, rushed back to the kitchen, hanging the gardening gloves on their hook by the back door as he went.

"How's Greg?" Humbert asked, raising his voice to be heard over the combined humming whoosh of the vacuum and the whirr of the mixer. Greg was Louise's boyfriend. He'd taken remarkably well to their friendship, he'd said it was something like deciding to have a brother and picking a good one.

"He's acting all suspicious, sneaking about being secretive. I don't know if I should worry that he's seeing someone else, or hope that he's planning to propose," Louise called back.

Humbert smiled. It had to be the latter. Greg would have to be mad to not ask Louise to marry him. The girl was smart, practical, had wonderful blue eyes and the longest, straightest, palest blond hair Humbert had ever seen. Louise looked like an elf queen out of the old storybooks, but she was nearly as tough as nails, and loved Greg very much. Greg was an adventure-tours guide, with plain brown hair and grey-blue eyes.

Perhaps they were a strange couple, but they were really great together.

The vacuum stopped, and the humming started. Louise always hummed when she dusted. Humbert winced. Louise's one great fault – she thought she could sing. Everyone else knew that she was tone-deaf. Humbert set the rounds of dough on the trays and set the timer.

"Louise," he said, interrupting what might once have been Proud Mary, as he began to remove his apron. "I've just put the scones in, will you take them out when the timer goes? I'm going to have that shower."

"Yeah, no worries. I ought to be done dusting by then too, so I'll be gone by the time you get out of the shower and your mother gets here," she answered, smiling as she paused in the swishing of the feather duster.

Humbert nodded his thanks and, dropping the apron into the laundry basket, ran up the stairs away from Louise's humming and, collecting the suit he wore when his mother visited – it was her favourite, and his very best – took refuge in the bathroom.

The kitten was still there, cowering in the bottom of the bath.

Humbert closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to calm his fraying nerves. Andrea didn't approve of pets, they shed and they had no real notion of hygiene. Shedding his clothes, Humbert climbed into the bath and turned the tap so the water flowed out of the showerhead that was hanging above. The kitten got wet when he did, and he soaped her down when he had finished covering himself in suds. Rinsed, dried, and wearing a towel, Humbert combed his orange hair and shaved off any hairs that might have been sprouting from his face.

The kitten had been surprisingly docile as he washed her, even polite – she had kept her back turned rather than staring at him when he undressed. It hadn't occurred to Humbert to be shy of the kitten, but that she was a female, and had shared his shower, brought a blush to his cheeks as he dried himself and thought about it.

Humbert dressed himself, then combed the kitten. Then he brushed the fur off his sleeves. Examining his appearance in the mirror, Humbert was able to declare himself as perfect as possible when the doorbell rang.

His mother was here.


	3. Andrea von Gikkingen

Humbert bolted for the door, only it was more like flying. His feet hardly ever touched the ground – there was no clattering down the stairs, he jumped them. There was no pounding down the corridor; he reached the other end in two long, fast, strides.

His hand closed around the doorknob and he opened the door for his mother. She'd brought company. Humbert's other hand went to his tie, much like the hand of one facing the prospect of hanging reaches for the soon to be stretched neck.

Andrea was flanked by Humbert's Aunt Sarah and her daughter, Cousin Jemima, who was just a little younger than Humbert was himself. Andrea was wearing a green summer dress, the style of which had been quite fine in the 1940s, but was a bit out of place in the new millennium. Sarah was likewise dressed, only in pink rather than green, but at least Jemima had gotten away with wearing jeans and a large jacket over a white tank top. The slightly boyish look suited Jemima, with her close-cropped mouse-brown hair and mischievous hazel eyes.

Of course, while Humbert liked Jemima well enough and they always had something to talk about, her presence, along with that of both their mothers, did not bode well.

"Mother, Aunt Sarah, dear Jemima, this is a pleasant surprise, won't you come in?" he said, meaning the surprise was Jemima, he had known his mother was coming.

The three women entered, and Jemima gave Humbert her jacket – this was expected. Her jacket was hung on the hallstand beside Humbert's top hat. It was silk, and a gift from his mother. He only wore it when he went out on special occasions, like to his mother's house, which was on par with going to the opera in the strata of how dressed up a person should get for a thing.

Andrea von Gikkingken performed her inspection of Humbert's house while he made tea and served scones. He dreaded the moment of her finding the kitten, but it never came, and without a word, the matriarch sat down to four o'clock tea with the rest of them.

Humbert almost collapsed with relief. If his mother was silent, then she had found nothing to criticise.

"Humbert," the imperial middle-aged woman began, lowering her teacup from her lips. "You still don't have a sweetheart?"

The young man groaned silently. This is what he had been afraid of, before he had even known why Jemima's presence worried him; this was what he had been afraid of. His mother was trying to set him up with a "nice young gel" again, and now it was his cousin, Jemima.

"No Mother," he answered, maintaining a bland attitude to the annoyingly common question. "I haven't."

"What a coincidence, neither has Jemima," said his Aunt Sarah, feigning surprise. Of course, it was rehearsed. Jemima was the only one who wouldn't have any planned lines, she'd just been told to put on something nice and come.

"And she has no objections to you courting her, I'm sure," suggested Andrea, her tone half-suggesting, half daring anyone to defy her. No one had yet, except her husband, and that only when she had wanted him to clear out the garage, saying it was full of junk. Harold von Gikkingken had replied calmly that it was filled with antiquities, tools and things he wouldn't part with for all the world. Nothing had been thrown out.

Jemima had a shocked look on her face as the conversation took place, then turned an imploring look on Humbert, begging him to find a way out for both of them.


	4. Aunt Sarah

"Mother," Humbert started, still looking at that hunted look on Jemima's face. "I'm afraid I couldn't possible court Cousin Jemima," he said, carefully. He turned from the tremulously hopeful look on the tomboy's face to look at the woman who ruled the family.

She did not look particularly pleased to hear this.

"Why not?" Aunt Sarah wanted to know. "Is my girl not good enough?" she demanded, clearly offended by the idea that someone thought themselves too good for her girl, even if that someone was Andrea's eldest son.

"Nothing like that, Aunt Sarah," Humbert said kindly, though he was thinking fast. "Jemima is a wonderful person, and great company." This seemed to calm the senior relation. "She's also a free spirit," he added. "I wouldn't be able to keep up, I'd end up holding her back. I wouldn't want that for Jemima, I like her too much."

Jemima beamed a smile at Humbert, and he smiled back from behind his own teacup, hiding it from his mother. Andrea was sharp, if she caught that they had somehow agreed to not court, she could make them very sorry.

"I jump off cliffs for fun," Jemima quietly reminded her mother.

"And I make tea and scones," Humbert added, clinking his china cup onto the saucer.

Andrea sighed dramatically, and took Sarah's hand. The older women shared a look of forlornness and resignation.

"Besides, we're too closely related, it would be…" Humbert searched for an appropriate word. His mother would not accept "icky". "It would be inbreeding."

The clincher. Neither his mother, nor his aunt, wanted such a future for their children, or their grandchildren. Inbreeding, it was well known, produced idiots. It didn't matter if it wasn't true, it was well known, and was therefore fact among the old wives. They hadn't thought of _that_ detail when they were setting up their offspring.

Conversation turned. They discussed Humbert's father, Jemima's job, the men Jemima worked with, the women who lived in Humbert's street – beyond Louise, and a few four-year-olds, there weren't any that were single – and they talked about Great Uncle Ferdy.

Great Uncle Ferdy was getting married again. It was amazing, really, that the old geezer was still able to seduce women. His last wife had been thirty, and had divorced him for someone younger after they had been married for only six months. This new one, according to Aunt Sarah, was fifty, which was more reasonable. The family had hopes that _this_ marriage might last; one based on something other than looks and money.

Of course, the woman was still only half Great Uncle Ferdy's age.

The clock struck five o'clock and everyone stood up. It was time to go. Andrea and Aunt Sarah had husbands and still some children to feed after all, and Jemima had a work function to get to.

"Confidentially," Jemima whispered, as Andrea and Sarah walked to the car. "Apart from everything else, I also have a boyfriend. I just haven't told mother yet," she added.

Humbert smiled. It was hard to keep secrets from parents, but not living with them helped. Jemima had moved out of Sarah's house not long after Humbert had left Andrea's.

"I won't tell," he promised, helping his cousin on with her jacket.

"Of course, if you weren't my cousin, I might be tempted to try kissing you," she said, a cheeky smile on her heart-shaped face.

"Yeah, but you are, and we're more suited to being friends than lovers," Humbert pointed out, shooing Jemima out the door, his smile just as playful as the one on his cousin's face.

Humbert closed the door after much waving goodbye, and sagged against it, sliding down until he was sitting on the carpet, his head almost between his knees as his chin rested on his chest.


	5. Supper

When Humbert finally felt able to move again, the sudden relief of stress leaving him as limp as an overcooked noodle, he looked up to see the brown kitten sitting at his feet and staring up at him.

The white on the nose had been flour, and had come off even faster than the pickle relish. Truly, the kitten was completely brown, and brown like chocolate. There were no markings, no pattern, even the eyes, which are usually blue until the kitten reaches a certain age, were brown, though they at least had a touch of yellow in them.

"Well, you're a strange little thing," he said, staring at it. "Still, I expect that you're still hungry," he added, picking her up and heading for the kitchen.

"Chow on that while I get changed, alright?" he said, dropping the left over scones into a bowl, pouring the dregs of the tea into another, and putting them on the wooden floor before the kitten.

The kitten mewed and set to with a vengeance, biting, chewing, and swallowing like it all might be taken away at any second.

Humbert shook his head and headed up to his bedroom, removing his tie as he walked. The kitten had no way of knowing that all that food was for her, and no one would take it away, but the man still thought it amusing the way the small feline ate so desperately.

She probably had all sorts of diseases, slugs or worms or whatever they were called, from living in the streets, and for all that, he had never seen a kitten completely brown before, she was a pretty kitten. Perhaps he would keep her. The first thing to do, of course, was get some food into her, and take her to the vet in the morning – the clinic would be closed by the time he got there tonight, if it wasn't already.

Wearing a t-shirt that had a picture of Einstein sticking out his tongue on the front, and his pyjama pants, Humbert re-entered the kitchen. The kitten had finished the scones and was testing the tea. There was a dubious expression on her face, as though she wasn't sure whether she liked it or not. Humbert couldn't help but smile.

"I know, it needs milk," he said, pouring a little of the white stuff into the bowl with the tea.

The kitten tasted it again, licked her furred lips and appeared to smile before lowering her face to the liquid again and lapping it up. Humbert laughed, he couldn't help it: the kitten was just a few shades darker than the milky tea she was drinking with such apparent rapturous delight.

Humbert wiped a tear from his eye and made himself calm down. He had vegetables to chop, potatoes to put on the boil, and a lump of half-marinated beef to pot-roast. Oh, yes, he could have taken a container out of the freezer and just heated up some left overs of his own in the microwave, but he was starting to run out of left overs. A big pot-roast would give him a few more meal's worth.

The young man ran a large hand through his flaming orange hair – messing it up a little, but it looked more natural this way – and turned on the radio. He did the veggies while they played "That Don't Impress Me Much". He'd never completely understood the song, but then, he'd never listened very attentively.

Everything ready to go, Humbert set the timer and migrated to his living room, where he chose a book and waited to be interrupted by beeping.

What interrupted him first, though, was the brown kitten jumping onto the arm of his chair and crawling into his lap, where she started to purr.


	6. The Vet Clinic

Humbert had found a basket, a blanket he never used, and after feeding both himself and the kitten, had driven around to the nearest vet's. The brown kitten had curled up happily in the basket. She had slept the night under his bed, keeping him awake until he got used to her purring.

The receptionist and nurse had been surprised to see Humbert come in with a perfectly brown kitten. They were used to kittens with grey patterns and bright blue eyes. The girl behind the desk did a search of cat breeds.

There was one that was completely brown like the kitten. A rare breed, fairly hardy, but rare. Rare in pets meant valuable.

Humbert gave the receptionist an account of how he had come by the kitten, and she asked if he intended to keep it.

"Most people don't, you know. Keep strays I mean," she told him, looking at the kitten longingly.

"I think I will," Humbert answered, stroking the kitten gently as she lay, curled up, in the basket. "But I don't know what kittens need," he added, a question there.

The girl was just seventeen, working in the summer break to earn some extra pocket money, and had dark hair streaked with highlights that was tied in a long horsetail. When she stopped being soppy over the kitten, she looked Humbert up and down. He wasn't _that_ much older than her after all, and high school girls are inclined to crush on older men.

Pants, clean shirt, shocking orange hair, and green eyes that were just as shocking at his hair. He was an improvement on the guys her age, who wore long shorts and any shirt that was flexible enough to _be_ worn. At the same time, he was too old for her, just a little.

She handed over a pamphlet. It was glossy, blue, had a cartoon of a cat on the front, and the words "What Every Cat Owner Should Know" printed in large, white letters with a thick red line shadowing each word.

Humbert thanked her and sat down in the waiting room, taking the cat and the pamphlet with him. He read about diet, sleeping habits, hygiene, health and general care until he was called into the examination room.

Humbert looked on with a lot of embarrassment and a little horror as the vet poked and prodded at the kitten in some mildly invasive ways. He had to close his eyes when the thermometer was inserted.

The kitten wailed at the indignity, and attempted to scratch the vet for the insult.

The vet then fed worming tablets to the kitten and gave her a couple of jabs, at which point he handed the kitten over to Humbert and declared her to be in surprisingly good health for a kitten just out of the garbage bin.

On seeing the bill, Humbert said that he hoped, very much, that she stayed that way, and wrote the practice a check.

"I'm really sorry about that," he said, strapping the kitten's basket into the front seat. "I really am, I had no idea…" the poor young man couldn't bring himself to mention all those things the vet had done. "Let's go to the pet shop, you can pick out something, and I'll get you a proper bed and travelling cage."

Humbert gave his new kitten one more pat before shutting the passenger door and letting himself in on the driver's side. Half an hour later, they were back home.

"Only thing left is to figure out what I'm going to call you," Humbert said, pouring milky tea – rather than water, or straight milk – into the kitten's new food dish.

The kitten looked at him, her expression almost exactly the same as when she had been making her mind up about the tea.

"Well I can't just call you kitten forever," he explained. "I expect you have a name you call yourself?"


	7. Greg

The kitten bobbed her head, as though answering his question in the affirmative then lowered her chin to the milky tea. The tea was cold, but that was all right. She wouldn't have liked the tea to be burning hot, just a little warm would have been fine too; she was used to her mother's milk, which had been warm.

Humbert stared at the kitten for a while, trying to figure out if the small brown life had _actually_ nodded, or if it had been his imagination.

Eventually he decided that dwelling on it wasn't helping, and fixed his own lunch. He was just about to sink his teeth into his sandwich when the doorbell rang. He wasn't expecting anybody, and Louise never rang the doorbell, well, she hardly ever did. She usually just yelled for him or let herself in if he'd left the door unlocked.

It was Louise, and Greg. Louise was crying, and Greg was holding onto her protectively.

"We had to tell someone," said Greg, gently ushering Louise through the door and into Humbert's house. "We're getting married," he said.

"Congratulations," Humbert said, bewildered. "Such happy news, why do you look like something terrible happened?"

Louise brought her face away from Greg's shoulder. There was a large bruise on one side of her face.

"My father," Louise said, anger flashing through her tears. "He –" she couldn't go on.

"He doesn't approve," Greg finished, holding tight to the woman he loved. "He expressed himself rather violently, I stopped him from doing any more and got Louise out of there as fast as I could, but…" now he couldn't go on either.

"Come on in, stay as long as you need to," Humbert said, guiding them to the kitchen. He ignored his sandwich, carefully didn't tread on the kitten and got an ice pack and a tea towel. He wrapped the ice pack in the cloth and handed it to Greg, who gently applied it to Louise's bruise.

"Want anything to eat?" Humbert offered, laying the bread out on the bench and reaching into the cupboard for thing to spread on it.

"Chicken salad? If you have it," Greg answered, still holding Louise close. He had her sitting on his lap while he sat on the kitchen chair.

Humbert jerked his head at his own sandwich. "That's chicken salad," he said. He didn't need to add that he hadn't touched it yet. It was obvious from the wholeness of the thing.

Greg nodded in return. "Thanks," he said, but he didn't reach for it. "Louise? What about you?"

"Just some tea for me thanks," she said now holding the ice pack for herself. "You go ahead, I'm not really all that hungry."

Greg nodded his understanding and, turning so that he wasn't eating in Louise's face, took a bite out of the chicken salad sandwich.

Humbert put the tea on and made another sandwich for himself, but he didn't eat it. He poured Louise her hot drink, and gave her a friendly hug, but rather than sit down with his friends, he went to his living room and started dismantling the couch.

The sound of springs could be heard, and a heavy, muffled sound, then the flapping of large amounts of cloth. Greg carefully shifted himself out from underneath his fiance and went to see what Humbert was doing: the couch had folded out into a bed, and Humbert was just laying sheets and blankets on.

"I mean it, stay for as long as you need to," he said quietly when he was done, laying a hand on Greg's shoulder as he went back to the kitchen for his sandwich.


	8. Guests

The kitten was looking up at Louise, her front paws on the woman's legs.

"I'll be alright," Louise was telling the kitten, rubbing her gently between the ears. "They're good guys, these two."

The kitten nodded in agreement. Humbert was almost certain of it, but Louise had stopped crying, so he pulled out another of his kitchen chairs and sat down so that he could talk to her.

"Oh, hey Humbert, I was just reassuring Haru here that I was okay," Louise said, looking up at the man from the kitten.

"But you're not, not yet anyway," Humbert said. She hadn't called him Humbert since she had started calling him Baron, not once since then. "Haru?" he asked, taking in something else his friend had said.

"That's what she says her name is, don't look at me like that. Da used to hit everyone; it's just been such a long time since he did it to me, I'd forgotten. Really, I'm fine," Louise insisted, changing the subject from the kitten to her bruise then bringing her teacup to her lips.

"Yeah, alright, but look, I've unrolled the sofa-bed, so you and Greg're welcome to stay here tonight if you need to. Your dad might be on the rampage still after all, and he knows where you two live," Humbert pointed out, picking up the kitten and settling her in his lap.

She hadn't been in his life long, but she was a warm, comforting presence already, even if he had panicked about his mother seeing her the day he'd found her in the bin. The little one even had a name now: Haru. Even with the sun rising in her face, Louise had done what she always did – solved his little problems before he had time to worry about them – without even thinking about it.

Haru purred as he ran his fingers along her back. Humbert had no idea what sort of name Haru was, but it was easier to go with it than try and think of something else. Actually, it suited her. Haru was an unusual name to him, and the kitten was also unusual – completely brown, a rare breed.

"Haru, huh?" he murmured.

Greg made dinner. Humbert told him – several times – that he didn't have to, but Greg had insisted. Ten minutes later, when all four of them were eating Greg's hearty soup (yes, even the kitten Haru had some in her bowl), Humbert was glad the fellow had ignored him.

The man could really cook. It was fantastic, and there was extra, so Humbert could freeze some for another meal some time.

Louise and Greg went to sleep on the sofa-bed, too stressed from a sudden and violent day to fool around, and grateful enough to Humbert to not want to make any noise that might disturb him.

Humbert walked almost heavily up the stairs to his bedroom. He wasn't used to having days like this one, but the next day was Monday, and he had to work. That meant getting a good night's sleep so that he would be able to work. It wasn't anything spectacular, just tuning engines at the 'shop, but he was good at it and it paid.

The bed he'd bought for the kitten he placed in the cozy little space under the desk in his room. It wasn't quite the same as having her purring from beneath the bed, but he should encourage that sort of thing with pets – according to the pamphlet that he'd been given at the vet's clinic.

"Goodnight Haru," Humbert said quietly, enjoying the velvety feel of her ears and fur between his fingers before he changed into his pyjamas and flopped onto his bed. "What a day," he mumbled to himself. "And work tomorrow on top of all this."


	9. Mondays

For the first time since he had left his parent's house, Humbert was waiting for a turn in the shower. Rather than just forming a one-man cue though, he went down to his kitchen to think about breakfast. Greg was already there, watching the toaster, though Humbert was under the impression that his friend probably wasn't seeing the small white appliance.

"Have to work?" Humbert asked, pouring kitten kibble and milky tea into Haru's bowl, ready for when she woke up and came downstairs.

"Yeah," Greg answered. "I don't like the idea of leaving her, and Louise has to call in to her work as well. It's going to look real good that, her walking into the class room with a massive bruise on her face." Greg put his face in his hand and rubbed it. Sleep had not come easily to him, and worrying about Louise was only making him worse. If he kept it up, he'd be in no shape to take the day's adventure tourists.

"Greg, she'll be fine, she said so herself. Louise will probably call the school and get a substitute teacher for her class, it's no big deal about work, but I reckon we ought to report her old man," Humbert said, reassuring himself as much as the other man.

Shifting to the kitchen table, Humbert made himself eat his cereal. Remembering the sight of that huge bruise just below Louise's eye made everything tasteless and hard to swallow, but he had to, and he knew it. It was only this knowledge that got the food to go from his bowl to his gut.

"Shower's free, who's next?" Louise called; leaving the bathroom dressed in a blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Her white-blond hair was still a bit wet, the damp patches making it all look silver. A perfectly groomed Haru twined about Louise's feet.

"Go on Greg, I really just splash myself to wake up, I need to get clean when I get home," Humbert said, digging his spoon into his cereal again.

Greg nodded and went. He stopped Louise a moment and, wrapping his arms around her waist, gave her a quick kiss before letting go again and heading in the direction she had just come.

"She share your shower?" Humbert asked, pointing at Haru with his spoon.

"Actually, yeah. Seemed to like it too, which is weird. Seems to think I need the most taking care of just now," Louise said, picking up the kitten as she sat down at the kitchen table. "But I'm fine, I promise, I really am. I've got Greg, and I've got good friends, and I've got a substitute teacher already lined up," Louise told the kitten, looking her in her brown eyes.

"Oh good, Greg was worried about that," Humbert said as absently as he could when he was worrying about a good friend. "Will you stay here, or go out and start arranging the wedding?" he asked, his tone suggesting that he would much rather her stay put, where she could watch – and be watched by – the kitten.

"I'm staying put," Louise said, letting Haru go. The kitten had caught a noseful of her breakfast, and was hungry. "The shiner isn't anything serious, it's just really obvious," she added with a sigh.

"You should report him."

"He'll cool down, he'll even give me away if I let him have enough time to get used to the idea. Reporting a history of violent behaviour won't do anyone any good, but thanks for the concern."


	10. Sweethearts

Andrea had sniffed with distaste the first time she saw the little brown kitten, but the house was still in perfect order, and Haru used only the kitty-litter tray, so she could find no fault in keeping the pet. Besides, her son liked it, and it was his house – there was little she could do.

Haru always sat placidly in Humbert's lap when he entertained his mother, a calming force able to counter his mother's exacting one. She did not, of course, stay a kitten. Haru grew to be a long, sleek cat, quite capable of jumping up the back of the chairs from the carpet behind and calmly walking down, her claws dug into the upholstery.

Every time she visited now, she brought an eligible young lady, and made the same suggestion she had with Jemima: courtship. Since these young women weren't relations like Jemima, or even always known to Humbert, he would usually have to go on at least one date with them, if for no other reason that to prove to his mother that they weren't a match.

Andrea always called the next day – after the date, to see how it had gone. Humbert had to explain every time exactly why he and so-and-so had decided to not pursue the relationship. The reasons varied from "we had nothing to talk about" to "she wouldn't stop talking" and once or twice it was "she already has/almost has a boyfriend". There were also the ones where Humbert had to explain that, despite he and the girl getting along just fine, he wasn't going to go on another date with her. There wasn't any chemistry between them. It was more like being just friends than maybe having something more than friendship, the way he felt about Louise. Andrea didn't seem to understand these explanations, and ranted at him for a while when he gave them, but he was getting better at putting his foot down, at least over the phone.

Louise had been right, she did get her father to walk her down the aisle on her wedding day, kiss her forehead and give her away to Greg. The ceremony was beautiful, and Louise looked more delicate and fey than ever. Looking surreptitiously about, he was sure that every other single man, and possibly a few who were married, wished they were the ones Louise was promising to love, honour and obey.

Humbert wasn't among them. He was too much of a music lover to want to hear her dusting every day for the rest of his life, and Louise was his friend. It didn't matter how beautiful she looked in that wedding dress of hers, kissing her would be like kissing his cousin Jemima: wrong, on a myriad of levels.

It was about six months after Humbert let Haru into his life that the young cat started yowling. He would have taken her to Louise, who seemed to understand the exquisite brown feline on some other level, but she had just left on her honeymoon. A trip to the vet was needed. Remembering the last time Humbert had gone to the vet, he made up his mind to find a female one – a woman, he felt sure, would be gentler with a female cat.

"You never had her de-sexed, Mr von Gikkingken?" enquired the vet, apparently patting and playing with Haru, though her gloved hands were gently exploring the cat's body.

"No," Humbert answered, surprised by the question. "Is that a problem?"

"Not really, but it's why she's uncomfortable now. Your little beauty here is in heat, with no males to satisfy her," the woman explained, looking up through her red-rimmed glasses. "You have three options, Mr von Gikkingken," she said. "One: You can find her a mate and wait for kittens. Two: I can neuter her now, and you'll never have to worry about this behaviour in her again."

"And option three?" Humbert asked. He didn't fancy the idea of a tomcat and piles of kittens, but the idea of rendering Haru barren wasn't very easy with his conscience either.

The vet shrugged. "Wait it out. There's nothing wrong with her, she's just going through puberty, she'll quiet down on her own."

"Thank you doctor," Humbert said. "I think I can handle that," he added, rubbing his fingers against Haru's cheek.

Haru did quiet down, and the next time she became moody, Humbert knew what the problem was. He let her sleep on his bed at those times, it seemed to calm her, and he didn't mind her small warm body purring near his face as he drifted off to sleep.


	11. the Stranger

The light of the full moon filtered gently in through the bedroom window, casting a soft blue light all around. Not that anyone was awake to see. Humbert was sleeping on his bed, absently tickling Haru's stomach as he dreamt of one day defying his mother to her face.

He rolled over, no longer facing the now adult cat. The shift and cessation of tickling woke Haru, and her elegant head came up sharply, her large brown eyes looking at the red-head who had welcomed her into his life, saving hers in the process.

Haru had spent almost every day since then trying to think of how to best thank the human. Sitting with him when his mother came was a small gesture. Haru enjoyed glaring at the older woman. It was a cat thing: she could get away with treating the matriarch like a servant, because she herself was treated like a queen every day.

All those women through the year… Haru sometimes wondered if the best way to thank Humbert would be to give him a final reason to never have to go out with them ever again. It probably would be a good thank you, but how to go about it?

Oh, she knew humans could be turned into cats: that was easy. That was very, very easy. Haru knew this, and dismissed it as an answer to Humbert's troubles. No human had ever been glad to turn into a cat, except perhaps the ones who were starving on the street already – it was easier to find food if you were a cat, and you didn't have to find so much.

Haru lowered her head onto her paws and stared at the orange hair, tussled by sleep, and the shoulders and back of the man. It would be a shame to waste such a man as a cat. Oh, he would probably still be handsome as a cat, but orange was a common colouring on felines, and this man… wasn't common.

She got up and moved closer to him. Cats do not often show affection, for all their purring and rubbing up against their humans, they generally keep themselves to themselves, so what Haru did next was uncharacteristic of her kind: she gave Humbert a lick on the cheek. A cat's kiss.

Humbert rolled back on the bed, towards the cat that was now tickling him.

"Love you too, Haru," he mumbled, still mostly asleep, though his hand managed to find her brown side and rub it a couple of times, his green eyes blinking open blearily to look at her before he drifted once again to the deeper regions of slumber.

Only rather than going back to sleep, he was suddenly awake. There was a young woman on his bed.

She was stretched out on her stomach and had brown hair that cascaded around her shoulders. Her skin was the colour of milk, with maybe a little tea in, and flawless, all over. This was easy to see, because she wasn't wearing so much as one stitch of clothing. She blinked big brown eyes, framed with long eyelashes, and turned her head to see what he was staring at. Her face turned red.

Humbert rubbed at his eyes, wanting to be certain – was he awake, or dreaming? When he took his hands away again, there was only the cat on his bed, looking at him with her head on an angle, as if asking him what just happened.

"Did you see a young woman lying on my bed just then?" he asked, nervously, taking comfort from the velvety warm feel of Haru's fur.

Haru just looked up at him, tilting her head to the other side.

"Probably just a dream," he muttered, rearranging himself beneath the covers again. "Good night Haru."


	12. Night Time Visits

It became a re-occurring dream for Humbert: the strange woman appearing on or near his bed. Sometimes she ran for his cupboard and held any item of clothing to herself, sometimes she just huddled on his bed, trying to cover herself with his sheets. The first night, it seemed, she hadn't had enough time to realise her nakedness.

After a month of this, Humbert left his dressing gown at the foot of his bed for her, a nearer place than his cupboard and more sufficient than bedclothes.

"Thank you, Humbert," she said, wrapping herself up in the robe. Her words were slightly disjointed, like she had to think about the next syllable before she could say it. It was the first time she had spoken. "It is sweet of you," she added, emphasising the word sweet, as though she had heard it but wasn't completely sure it was the right word.

She spoke like a tourist, one who knew only half of the language, and wasn't comfortable speaking it, but she didn't have any accent.

"You're welcome," he answered, swinging his legs out from under the covers to stand and move, carefully, closer to her. He hadn't done this before, and didn't want her to run away again when they had just started to talk.

She was, he supposed, just a little younger than he was. Maybe twenty, going on twenty-one. He'd turned twenty-two a little while ago.

The lady shifted on her feet, and Humbert didn't know what to say. The simple questions – What's your name? Where are you from? – seemed intrusive, and he wasn't very good at starting conversations.

He shifted his gaze to his feet, rubbing his neck and trying to think of something to say, but when he looked up again, she was gone, his robe in a heap on the carpet. Haru was staring at him from near the robe, but when he still didn't say anything, she went back to her bed under his desk. Humbert sighed and turned back to his own bed. He had no more dreams that night.

The next day was Saturday, and Humbert spent the day making meals to turn into left overs and talking to his cat, though mostly he was thinking about the woman he was always dreaming about. If it was a dream. His dressing gown had still been in a pile on the floor when he woke up; proof that it was more real than the usual kind of dream.

"Did you see her Haru?" he asked, rubbing a finger against her cheek as he sat and ate lunch. "I wonder where she came from, who she is, and how does she disappear like that do you think?" his last question more serious than the two wonderings before. "Why does she disappear like that, and for that matter, how does she _appear_ , and why in my room?"

Haru gave him a long look. Cats are very good at those. The kind of look that says, in no uncertain terms, "you're a fool", without telling, in any way, why this was.

"Sick of me talking to you about another woman?" Humbert hazarded, pausing in his patting.

Haru nodded, once, slowly, just like she had when she was a kitten.

"You're not jealous are you my dear?" he asked, resuming the loving strokes down the feline's brown back. "I hardly know her after all, and you never got jealous of all those girls Mother set me up with."

Haru jumped down from his lap and, tail in the air, sauntered over to her water bowl and, tail lashing from side to side, crouched down to drink. It was an "I've decided to ignore you" attitude.

"You're still my favourite girl," he said, green eyes soft, and a smile on his face as he watched her – she paused for a moment, smiled her catty smile, and started again.


	13. Harold von Gikkingen

The phone rang, eliciting a groan from Humbert – it was always his mother.

She was either going to tell him that she was coming over, or ask how the date went with the last girl. Since she had already called about his date, she would be telling him to expect her on such-and-such a day.

He was tempted to just let it ring, but he was home all day, and it would just keep ringing. It was better to get it over with, especially since Haru was giving the noisome thing a dirty look.

"Hello?" he said, picking up the receiver. It might not be his mother, it might be a tele-marketer, it might be work asking him to come in for some over-time, and if he was really lucky it would be a prank call.

"Humbert, it's your father," said the voice on the other end.

"Dad?" Humbert said, surprised. He'd hardly seen his father since he moved out – the old man dropped into the 'shop sometimes, wanting a part for the vintage auto in the garage, and they'd chat a bit then, but that was at work.

"Your one and only," answered Harold, his deep, mellow voice crackling over the phone line. "Son, you need to come over. I'm sorry for the short notice, but it's an emergency."

"What's up Dad? Should I bring my tool kit?" Emergencies with his father were often just a need for an extra pair of hands to help with the old car, because he didn't have four arms of his own.

"No son," Harold's voice said. There was something sad, tired and sagging about the tone, even through the distortion. "Your mother just had a heart attack."

"I'm coming Dad, see you soon," Humbert said, hanging up. As intimidated by his mother as he was, the young man was still very attached to having her around. The idea that she might be dead was terrifying. He'd never known a world without that was completely without her.

Haru padded up to him, what might have been a question on her face.

"Mum's had a heart attack," he told her. The cat stopped, her brown eyes wide. "Dad wants me. I'll be back in time for dinner," Humbert promised, throwing a jacket on over his white tee.

Haru nodded and, after she'd twined about his legs for a second, ran up the stairs to sit and wait, a perfect view of the front door available to her from there.

"Humbert!" Harold exclaimed, taking his boy into a desperate hug. The old man's world had been rocked too, and he found refuge in his eldest child and only son.

"Dad," Humbert said, wrapping his arms around the old man. He looked older than Humbert remembered; there were grey hairs mixed in with the orange ones, more wrinkles and his blue eyes were red rimmed.

"The docs say she's alive, but that she probably won't last the night," Harold explained, leading his boy into the house. "They took her to the hospital just after I called you. Son, I hope she doesn't last the night, I can't bear to see her like that," the old man confessed in the hallway, tears in his eyes, as if he were admitting to being evil.

In the kitchen, all the men of the family were congregated.

"The womenfolk followed the ambulance, they're going to keep watch or something, I don't know, the guys were all good enough to stay, but a man needs his son at a time like this," Harold said quietly as Humbert followed him into the kitchen.


	14. Cousin Jemima

"We'll let the girls concern themselves with the dead and dying, there's the living to worry about still," said a great hulk of a man with dirty blond hair. His name was Edward; he was Jemima's older brother. It was odd, thinking of the two of them being, not just related, but from the same parents. They had similar personalities, but that was, really, where the similarity ended.

"You lot do a great job," a voice said from behind Humbert.

He turned in surprise. The voice was female – the owner was Jemima. Of course, she was the only girl who wouldn't register among the family as a girl, except when the mother's were matchmaking.

"Hey Jemima," Humbert said, pulling out a handkerchief and offering it to her.

Jemima was vehement in her claims of not being a girlie girl, and she did a pretty good job, but there were tracks down her face from crying anyway. She had admired Andrea's shrewdness, even if she wasn't keen on filling the traditional housewife role herself.

The woman sniffed and smiled wetly at the sight of the clean white linen square, taking it from the offering hand.

"Thanks," she said, cleaning herself up and blowing her nose. "I'll wash it before I give it back," Jemima added, looking at it when she was done. It went into her pocket.

Humbert nodded and turned back to his dad, the reason he was here. He had to do something to take his mind off it all…

"Dad, you want a hand on your latest vintage while we wait for the docs to tell us the bad news?" Humbert suggested quietly, wrapping an arm around his father's shoulders. They were thinner than he remembered too.

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah that sounds good. Andrea just got me another one the other week; I've hardly touched it yet," Harold said, coming to himself for a moment.

Everyone migrated to the garage. There wasn't much room, so Edward and another relative of similar build, called Duncan, rolled the car out into the driveway and the light.

It had once been a beautiful car, and it would be again. Everyone worked on it, even Jemima. She was gofer, fetching tools, parts, and cold drinks as they were asked for. By five o'clock, the only thing left to do to the car was re-upholster the seats and give it a new coat of paint.

Humbert had to go, but Jemima promised to stay with Harold, and call him the instant there was anything new to know. He thanked her, and with a last hug for each her and his father, climbed into his own vintage car – there wasn't room enough in his father's garage to keep _all_ the cars he restored, most of them he gave to family members when they turned twenty – and drove home.

Humbert was barely through his front door when a chocolate coloured streak of lightning raced towards him and leapt at his chest.

"That isn't like you, Haru," he said, holding her and stroking her ears with one hand while he closed the door with the other. "Not that I mind, of course," he added, kissing her furry cheek and walking into the kitchen.

Haru put her paws up on his shoulder and looked at him the same way she had when he pulled her out of the bin – just a little frightened.

"Mum probably won't make it through the night, and cousin Jemima is staying with Dad, she'll call when it happens," Humbert answered to the look.

Haru butted her head against Humbert's chin affectionately, being as sympathetic and consoling as she could. The beeping of the microwave finishing interrupted the tender moment. Haru let herself down from the man's arms.

Surprised by the sound of the microwave, Humbert followed the cat into the kitchen. He was even more surprised to see her pushing the button to open the microwave and towing out one of Humbert's frozen dinners.


	15. The Passing

"I don't know how you did that, but thank you Haru," he said, taking the lid off the dinner and pouring half – it was Greg's soup – into Haru's bowl before taking a spoon and sitting down to eat the rest himself.

"Rreaow?" The sound was small, but it drew Humbert's attention to Haru waiting for him at the door of the kitchen. It was getting late, he ought to try and get some sleep, he knew, and he knew that was what Haru was getting at.

"I don't think I could sleep tonight Haru," he answered, kneeling down on the wooden boards of the kitchen floor in front of the elegant cat. "I'll stay up in the lounge room, near the phone. Will you keep me company? I'd really appreciate it."

Haru slipped out the kitchen door, leaving Humbert behind.

He sighed, he supposed he shouldn't have expected the cat to understand all that, he shouldn't have expected her to understand any of it, but she was very smart, and he thought she might – she'd known what he was talking about before after all. Resigned to a long night alone, Humbert dragged himself into the lounge room, and dragged his favourite comfy chair over to the phone before sitting down in it.

Just as he was thinking about how long the night would be, Haru backed into the living room, apparently dragging something.

Humbert got out of the chair to see what it was, and smiled.

She hadn't deserted him; she had been fetching his blanket, pillow and dressing gown. It must have been difficult for her to drag down the stairs, but she had brought it for him. Sleeping somewhere different wasn't a problem for Haru, she would be able to snuggle down in Humbert's lap or take up residence on a cushion.

"Thank you Haru," Humbert said, taking the blanket and pillow to his chair and folding up the dressing gown on the table. "You really do look after me, I don't deserve such a wonderful woman in my life," he added, kissing his finger and touching it to her nose before giving her a proper hug.

Humbert, wrapped up in his blanket and with Haru curled up down the side of the chair, with the best intentions of staying up all night until the call came, nodded off.

It wasn't the sound of his phone ringing that woke him; it was the sound of it being picked up. It was her again, wrapped up in his dressing gown, holding the receiver to her ear.

"Is this Cousin Jemima?" she asked. Her words flowed normally tonight, as though she had never had any trouble forming even the smallest sentences.

"Yes, is Humbert there?"

"He's asleep, I think the stress of the day caught up with him. How's Andrea?" There was emotion in her voice. This woman Humbert was certain had never met his mother, sounded desperate to know how the matriarch was.

"She's gone, just five minutes ago."

The brown-haired girl sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Then she is at peace, at least," she said into the receiver. "What about you? And Humbert's father?"

"Harold's crying, but he's smiling too. We're all feeling sorry for ourselves just now, but I think Uncle Harold is mostly glad that Aunty Andrea isn't in pain any more. Will you tell Humbert? He doesn't have to come over, but if he wants to, we're all awake over here."

"I will, I promise," answered the young woman, her hand gripping tightly to the chord of the phone. "I'd better go and check on Humbert, and tell him if he's up."

"Sure, bye."

"Bye," the girl said, and hung up the phone. She turned and was visibly surprised to see that Humbert was watching her. "Do you want to see your father? Jemima says that everyone is awake, if you want to go over." She didn't need to say that the imperious Andrea von Gikkingken was now the late Andrea von Gikkingken.


	16. Nightmares

Humbert couldn't answer for a moment. The shock of what had just happened, the tears streaming down his face, the feeling of the whole world crumbling around him, rendered him incapable of speech.

"Oh, there now," the young woman said, moving to his side and wiping at his tears with the sleeve of the robe she was wearing; his robe. Gently, just gently, she stroked his hair, and when he started crying into her shoulder, she let him.

His breathing changed, and she knew he was asleep again. The poor man, he really was exhausted.

She sighed and shifted him so that his head was on his pillow again, then tucked his blanket around him so that he wouldn't feel chilled. If she could have, she would have taken him up to his bed, but it would have been awkward and she would probably have dropped him more than once if she tried it.

"My dear Humbert," she said, brushing a little of his orange hair out of his face, a slightly sad smile on her own almost porcelain features. "You both dreaded her and loved her, and now you don't know what you feel. Take refuge in sleep, sleep can't hurt you."

It was different this time, before he had always stayed awake, watching her, until she wasn't there any more. This night, he wasn't able to, didn't want to – being awake meant being aware of a world that had irreversibly altered, forever changed. Change often frightened people, and sometimes the fear did more damage than the change.

She left him to sleep, padding up the stairs in bare feet. In his room, she removed the robe and left it lying neatly on the bed, then she wasn't there any more.

Humbert slept peacefully for half an hour after that. Around midnight, he started to toss and turn in the chair.

Haru jumped up into his lap, waking him. Concern was written clearly on her brown, furry features, even though there was hardly any light to see by. She raised her paws up and planted them on his chest so that she could look him in the face, her brown eyes level with Humbert's green ones.

"Haru," Humbert breathed, laying a relieved hand on the cat's back. "Thank goodness, I dreamt I'd lost you too. Everyone was gone, Mother, Dad, Louise, Greg, Cousin Jemima, even the dream girl was gone, then you walked past me into the darkness and wouldn't come back. I'm so glad you're not gone."

The lonely man will cling to those with whom he shares his days, and a cat is most companionable. Humbert had become, through much exposure to women in whom he had no interest, a lonely man. The parade of eligible young ladies caused him to realise that the fairer sex and he had little in common, and those with which he felt any slight compatibility he was more inclined to be "just friends" with. If he had to share his life with someone, it seemed to him, it ought to be someone he could see himself growing old with.

Ever since he had let the cat into his life, Haru had become his companion, his confidant, and now she was taking care of him too. Humbert hoped she would have a long life, cats, he had read, often didn't make thirty years.

Haru jumped down from his lap, took a corner of his blanket in her teeth and started to back away.

"The phone call's come, so now I should go to bed, is that it? All right my lovely," Humbert said, pulling himself out of the chair. He was surprised at how stiff he had become from sleeping in an upright position. "Let me do all the carrying, you brought it down," he added, bundling up his blanket under one arm and hefting his pillow under the other.


	17. Recovering

The radio was playing WestLife's "You Raise Me Up" when Humbert walked into the kitchen to see Haru jumping down from where the small contraption sat on the bench.

"Yes, you do," Humbert said. He had woken alone in his room, and had worried that Haru had left him, but the paranoia would pass. "Breakfast, and then I need a shower," he said.

Haru perked up at the word "shower". It was another way in which the completely pattern-less brown cat was odd: she liked getting drenched, soapy, drenched again, and then dried and brushed. She also covered her face with her paw when faced with a naked Humbert, making him blush and turn his back quickly.

Depositing the breakfast things in the dishwasher, Humbert headed back upstairs, trailed by Haru, her tail raised high in the air in anticipation.

"Anyone would think you weren't a cat, the way you love showers," Humbert said, opening the door for the cat.

She froze for a moment and turned big brown eyes, even bigger than usual, on him. It was clear that the suggestion shocked the sinuous feline. Shaking her head, she trotted into the bathroom.

Humbert dressed in a dark jeans and a grey shirt when he came out of the shower. Somewhere he even found a black ribbon, which he tied around Haru's collar in a bow. "In mourning," he had explained when she looked at him curiously. The cat had nodded and sat, docile, for while Humbert packed a lunch and a drink.  
He was going to visit his father again. He was just about at the door when Haru trotted up, an old basket in her teeth. It was the basket she had been first taken to the vet in – she wanted to come too.

"Sure," he said. "But in your carry cage, not that," Humbert added, pointing to the great plastic thing, lined with a thick blanket.

Haru nodded and dropped the basket, slipping silently into the box.

Humbert shut the wire door and picked her up. The drive wasn't long, but it would have been a tiring walk. The day was warm, and it was uphill most of the way.

"Dad? Jemima? What are you doing?" Humbert asked, veering from his original path to the door when he saw the two people in question in the driveway, installing seats upholstered in red leather to the car everyone had been working on the day before.

"What's it look like?" Jemima demanded, scowling as she tried to shove the backs into place.

"We're keeping busy," Harold said, more softly. "Andrea is gone, but life has to go on for the rest of us. How're you doing son? You looked a bit stretched when you left last night," seeing his son's blank look, the man explained. "Like you'd been put through a spin cycle and then wrung out."

"I'll get there, still tired, but…" Humbert didn't know what else to say. It didn't matter; his father had always understood what he wasn't able to say.

"Yeah, but she's peaceful now," Harold said kindly. "What's this you've brought?"

"Haru wanted to come," he said, tilting the box up a little and opening the wire door so that Harold could see the cat inside.

"Ah, I've wanted to meet your cat ever since Andrea came home disapproving of it," Harold said with a smile. Perhaps it was remarkable that the man could speak so lightly of his wife when she was so recently passed away, but it was Harold von Gikkingken. He'd done his crying, and now he was alright. He knew Andrea better than anyone else – and he knew that she wouldn't stand for tears when there were things to be done.

Haru peered out at the wrinkled old man as he peered in.

"You let her ladyship rest in the shade of the garage door, and come and help with the car yourself," Harold said at last. "She's a real beauty," he added.


	18. In Memory

The car was painted a shiny black, and Jemima carefully stencilled on the words "In Memory of Andrea" in yellow paint on one side. The letters were in a beautiful curly style that was still legible, but Harold hadn't said she could. She looked up at the old man shyly, hoping that he would approve.

He smiled under his scraggly moustache and nodded. It was fitting. It was the first, and last, vintage car his wife had ever brought home for him to restore – generally she objected to them, saying they were junk when they were brought in. Of course, when they were finished she always fawned over her husband's brilliance.

"We'll carry her from the funeral home in it, too," he said, wiping a smut off his spectacles. "Just as soon as we've put air in all the tires." The inner-tubes had all been patched the day before, but no air had been put in so that the patches wouldn't blow off.

"But first," he said, taking the pump hose from Jemima, "we'll have some lunch. Come on Jemima, you've hardly had a bite to eat all day."

"Yes Uncle Harold," Jemima said meekly.

Humbert and Jemima rolled the car back into the garage while Harold held onto Haru, so that the cat didn't get run over, then the old man led the way back into the house, still holding onto the feline. Andrea would not have permitted the animal in her house, but Harold had taken quite a shine to the little lady, even sharing some cold turkey with her.

"What breed is she, Humbert?" Harold asked, watching the cat leap from his lap to try and win Jemima over.

"The receptionist at the veterinarian clinic said she looked like a Havana Brown," Humbert supplied, watching his darling's antics, trying to get the loving attention of the only other female in the kitchen.

"Good British breed that, a little on the rare side, but a fine breed all the same" Harold said. "But they're supposed to have green eyes, not brown," he added, noticing the discrepancy.

Humbert shrugged, he didn't know all that much about breeds. He just had Haru, and she was perfect as far as he was concerned. Haru had made a space for herself on Jemima's lap, having finally won the young woman over.

"Who was the woman who answered your phone last night Humbert?" Jemima asked suddenly, just blurting out the question. It must have been waiting all day to come out, the way she said it.

Haru's ears flicked, and her head came up to keep them from flying off her head. None of the human's noticed her reaction though, so she settled down again, keeping her ears perked.

"I don't exactly know," Humbert said carefully. "Maybe she's my guardian angel, she's never given me her name. She just shows up after dark and stares at me a while before she disappears. I haven't any idea where she comes from, or where she goes."

"Yep, that sounds like a guardian angel to me," Harold said, sliding down in his seat a little and resting his hands on his stomach. "Calm down Jemima, I told you Humbert wasn't sleeping with a whore the night his mother died, you should trust a father's instincts of his son."

The old man lay a hand on his niece's shoulder, a solid, unshakeable presence, with years of experience and a whole lot of other stuff behind it.

The funeral was perfect. It even rained, so no one could be caught out crying, because it all got mixed up in the relentless and oppressive drops.


	19. The 'Shop

It was Monday again, and Humbert had to work. Well, no, he didn't. His boss had been very understanding about it all – his first experience of death, and it was his mother's. Nevertheless, Humbert got himself out of bed and pulled on his overalls for work.

Haru mewed at him a little, but Humbert was still a little numb from the funeral to do more than feed and pet the cat, not really noticing what she was trying to make him understand.

"See you at five," he said, closing and locking the door behind him.

Work happened. Work got done. His boss was indifferent at the sight of him, oh, there was always work for him to do, and he was the best, but the boss knew better than to let Humbert work all day so soon after a death in the family.

At lunch, he took Humbert aside. Sat the young man down in his office and, forcing a glass of water into his hand, started talking sense at his best engine man.

"Bert," no one in the shop called him Humbert. A name like Humbert didn't fit in among the grease, noise, and sweat, but Bert fit. "You can't do this to yourself. You can't work at your normal pace when you're missing sleep and suffering from delayed shock. You've got some leave racked up, take a holiday. You need it and you deserve it. I don't want to hear any arguments, we'll manage just fine, and your job will still be here when you get back," said the boss. He wasn't going to take no for an answer from his employee. Occupational Health and Safety was a big deal these days, and that included mental health.

"I've got to do something boss," Humbert said, taking a draught of the water. It was refreshing and cold.

"Take a holiday, take a cruise, drive across the country. Sleep in, stay out late, remind yourself how to have fun, but don't come back in tomorrow. I don't want to see you here for a month unless you need some work done on that car of yours."

Humbert walked through his front door at five, sharp. Haru was waiting for him, curled up on the bottom step, watching the door. She didn't rush at him, she gently hopped down and walked up to him, twining about his legs and rubbing her face against his shins.

"The boss ordered me to take a holiday," he told the cat as he stared into the freezer, not particularly interested in dinner, but picking one anyway – his stomach wanted food, even if he didn't. "Said that I have leave coming up anyway, so I should take it."

Haru sank to the floor and stretched out. The idea of a holiday seemed to appeal to her, whether she knew what it was or not.

He talked about what they might do as he ate, and, just when he was nearly ready for bed, decided that a caravan was the answer. Humbert declared as he fell into bed that the first thing he would do the next day was get a caravan that he could hitch to the back of his car.


	20. Escaping

He slept the night without waking, even when cool fingers traced over his face and played with his hair, he barely stirred. She smiled, glad that deep and reviving sleep had claimed him at last.

The next morning, Humbert felt weight on his chest, and looking sharply down, saw Haru standing on him, peering down.

"I'm awake, you can get off now," he said. When the cat had jumped down, he sat up and started to consider his day. It wasn't the weekend, it was Tuesday, and his boss had told him to take a holiday.

It took a while to find a caravan that he could hitch to his old auto, but eventually he found it, and bought it. The inside was a bit bare, but once he'd moved in – laid out a rug on the floor, installed some of his furniture and stocked the freezer – it was more homey. What finally did it though, was Haru dragging her blanket into a corner near the bed and making that spot hers.

She took up residency in the front passenger seat when Humbert did up his seatbelt and moved to start the car though.

"Alright, then you navigate," Humbert said, laying the map out and sliding it beneath the cat. This was a holiday, the carry box was staying at home, besides: Haru wasn't about to roam all over the car while he was driving. "Where are we going?" he asked, not quite out of his driveway.

Haru meowed and Humbert looked down at the map. The brown feline had a paw extended and hanging over a red spot. The word "Bristol" was written beside it. Bristol was located on the River Avon, just a bit further than Bath, and was a centre for aerial mechanics and shoes. They also did a good tea and had beautiful docks on the Severn Estuary.

"Sounds good, and we can go via the city of Bath, pamper ourselves a bit," Humbert said. Their destination decided, the twenty-two-year-old with the flaming orange hair eased his car out of the driveway, and then out of Camden and Greater London.

It was early spring. Some flowers were starting to bloom, but there was still some snow about in the higher regions, and a late frost wasn't unknown. The grass was starting to green up after being burnt by the cold of the snow, and all the animals looked just a little thin as man and cat motored past the pastures of cows, sheep, deer and once, alpacas.

Around about four that afternoon, Humbert pulled the car over to the side of the road and let himself into the caravan. It had been a long day on the road, and he was ready to lie down for a while, stretch, make the evening meal.

The next day, they reached Bath. Humbert had napped in the afternoon and driven half the night. When he pulled over again, he didn't wake until eight in the morning. Now it was nearly lunchtime.

"There's Bath Haru, what do you say to some pampering?" It took a while to find a place that pampered pets as well as their owners, but Humbert found it eventually, and by the end of the day, felt more relaxed than he had been since… Humbert couldn't remember the last time he felt this good, if he ever had.

Haru was purring beside him. Everything was perfect.

Until he tried to get back to his car. There was a crowd around it, and Humbert would have had a hard time getting through it if they had completely encircled his car. Thankfully, they were just packed ten-thick on the sidewalk, and by ducking onto the street a couple of cars away from his, Humbert was able to reach the driver-side door without having to squeeze through the crush of people.

Haru jumped in ahead of him and curled up on the passenger side.

Neither of them liked the crowd, so they pulled into the street and left Bath behind. Humbert sighed with relief when the city was behind him.

"Still want to go to Bristol?" he asked, slowing down and looking over at Haru. The cat shook her head. "Me neither. The open road is nice though, let's stick with that."


	21. Haru

"Humbert, Humbert wake up," the voice was soft and mellow, and when he opened his eyes, he saw her – the woman who visited him in the night. Her brown hair tumbled around her shoulders and spread out on the fabric of his dressing gown, the only thing she was wearing, again, and her brown eyes shone with a golden light – the very first light of dawn. "I owe you an explanation Humbert, you should be awake to hear it," she said, running her fingers through his orange hair. Her skin was cool, her touch soft.

Humbert made himself sit up, so that he could listen, rather than fall asleep again under her gentle caress.

"Yes, please. Shall I make tea and we can sit?" he suggested. He knew that he was awake this time. It definitely wasn't a dream. It was a conclusion he had been working up to for some time – that this woman was more than just a figment of his imagination.

The woman smiled. "I'd like that," she said, letting him up and watching him put the kettle on in the caravan's tiny kitchen. He even put some crumpets in the toaster and got out the butter and marmalade. She had to resist the urge to walk up behind him and wrap her arms around his neck, forcing herself to stay where she was, sitting on the foot of his bed.

"Milk or lemon with your tea?" Humbert asked, pouring the hot brown liquid into two plain teacups. He'd left the fine china at home, he hadn't thought that it would be needed.

"Milk, thank you," she answered. "I suppose I should start with who I am?" she asked as Humbert added milk and spread the crumpets.

"It's generally regarded as a good beginning," he said, laying out the early breakfast on the bench that served as a kitchen table in the caravan. Humbert pulled up his chair and found another for the lady.

"It's complicated," she said, absently and nervously twining her fingers in her own brown locks as she sat down to the early meal. "I want to thank you Humbert," her words came suddenly. She had wanted to say that for a long time, and she finally had. "For saving my life, for taking me in, for cleaning me, and feeding me, and caring for me." She fixed her large brown eyes on his, nearly crying from saying so quickly all the things she had wanted to say for so long.

Humbert blinked, twice, three times.

"Haru?" he asked quietly, incredulous.

She nodded, and tried to smile. She couldn't remember exactly how it had happened, but there was a time before, before she had been a cat. She had been human then too. Haru wrapped her hands around the cup, letting its warmth seep into her bones – it was still too hot to try drinking.

"I don't understand," Humbert said at last.

"That's alright, you don't have to," Haru answered. "I'm not actually a cat, I just… I don't really understand either, but something happened and I got stuck like a cat. I wandered the streets for ages, and then you found me," she sighed, a smile on her lips as she cast her mind back. "I loved your green eyes, almost from the moment I saw them, and then, when I started turning back into me again, I liked to play with your hair, the way you played with my ears when I was a cat."

"So, who _were_ you? Before you became a cat, I mean," Humbert asked when he had digested what he had just been told. He wasn't touching his tea and crumpets.

"My mother, I don't remember her at all, I think she died, and then my father… I think something bad happened to him, because of his politics or something… I think I have a Godfather though, yes. He was a big man, always dressed in a suit, he and father were always complaining about 'the Commons'. I'm still your Haru, Humbert," she said, reaching across the bench to lay her hand over his, her large brown eyes wanting him to accept her as she was.

Humbert looked at the small pale hand that rested on his larger one, and slipped out from underneath to wrap his hand around her fingers.

"I know, it's just a bit of a shock," he said, no longer completely sure that he wasn't dreaming. Dreams could be very vivid after all – but her hand was smooth, cool, and real. "How did you become human again?"

Haru smiled. "You broke the spell," she said. "You loved me." Haru rose from her seat and leant across the bench. Humbert smelt of sleep and tea and engines, and when she kissed him, he tasted like the feeling of catnapping in a cozy, sunny place. "I love you Humbert," the woman said. She would never turn into a cat again.


End file.
